Lion
by kabukimono
Summary: With the memories of his past come the memories of his own pain. Ringabel has some difficulty adjusting. Edea does as well. Though they often lick each other, lions are strong. WARNING: CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 6 (Ringabel's past) and ALSO SELF-HARM. Self-harm is the major plot of this fic, so please proceed with caution.


**WARNING: CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 6 (Ringabel's past) and ALSO SELF-HARM. Self-harm is the major plot of this fic, **so please proceed with caution.

(This contains hints of Rindea but was NOT intended to be shippy.)

* * *

He had thought himself above such things, but his memories are overwhelming. They make him sick, a disease spreading from the inside out that has no cure. He knows he's sick. Outwardly, he has enough experience with being Ringabel to smile and laugh with the others, but inwardly Alternis Dim wails and thrashes and _hurts_.

Ringabel is still hesitant to done the black armor again, lest he forget himself completely, but he dabbles in some of the skills regardless, even if his primary skillset is currently the Vampire, a handy thing. Dark Bane leaves him exhausted, especially after repeat uses. They've beaten back a group of enemies, Ringabel throwing himself into a Rage, and the ache that rings through his bones feels as good as it does painful.

As soon as the last monster vanishes, he falls to his knees, his strength leaving him with the adrenaline.

"Ringabel!" Edea cries, kneeling beside him.

"I…" His head is swimming, and he bites down on his lip to try and refocus.

"You've overdone it," Edea scolds, her voice panicked. "Tiz? A little healing please?" Tiz trots over in the guise of the White Mage, his brow furrowed.

Ringabel shakes his head, pushing Edea back. "No… No, I'm fine." The woman flinches, either because his voice is rougher than usual in his exhaustion or because his touch is careless. "I just need a potion and I'll… be good to go." He smiles. It's forced.

He nearly stops smiling at the worried look on her face. "Don't be stupid." She warns, but hands him a potion out of the pouch on her hip anyway, and Tiz has already fired off a Curaga that dispatches some of the numbness in his limbs. "We need you," Edea says as she moves away to go stand closer to Agnes, the Vestal waiting patiently for them near Eternia's gates.

If only that were true.

Ringabel lasts til the night, when they've finally re-entered Grandship for a night's sleep. Normally, he would be thrilled at the prospect, but not tonight. He hasn't punished himself enough, he thinks, leaning over the worn wooden counter in one of the washrooms on Grandship, his top off and his hair wet. The mirror is tarnished and somewhat warped, but he can still see the multitude of ugly bruises across the skin of his torso, and presses his fingers into one, groaning lightly at the pain and the tenderness that shoots through him. Bruises were not an uncommon side-effect of the Dark Knight or its skills, nor of their countless battles. He'd grown used to them.

It's not an entirely bad feeling, though, and he sighs, stretching out. It makes him feel alive, and his fingers brush over another bruise, relishing in the feeling of pain almost as though it were pleasure. I'm so messed up, he thinks with a rueful smile.

There's a knocking at the door, and Ringabel immediately tenses, reaching for his shirt. "I'm in here," he says.

"I know," Edea's voice is heard through the wood. "I'm coming in."

Before he can shove his shirt back over his head and torso, the door opens and Edea does come in, clad in a modest nightgown, holding a small container of… something in her hands. Ringabel, feeling exposed, holds the shirt against his chest, knowing that he can't hide all the bruises covering his body, and he closes his eyes, afraid of how much she'll judge him. He turns away as well, just for good measure.

Edea sets down the container on the wood next to him, avoids looking at him. It hurts her to see him like this. Alternis hadn't shown his body to her in years, not since when they children, but she had seen on and off how exhausted he could get after using the asterisk's powers too much, falling asleep in the early evening at times in one of the sitting rooms instead of his own bedroom, but there had been just one incident before she remembers vividly. "I… brought something. For your hurt."

He swallows. "That isn't necessary." Edea had once seen his bare arms when they were much younger. It was summer and he had just woken up when there was an emergency with Mazher. He hadn't had _time_ to think about being fully dressed. He'd spent the better part of the morning with his arms exposed before she'd quietly asked about the wounds and bruises that covered them. Braev had been there, and had quickly found a long-sleeved coat for the the younger man to wear, but once things had calmed down and they returned to Eternian Central Command, he'd sat Alternis down for a gentle discussion about the use of his asterisk. Years later, the Dark Knight still remembered the burn of humiliation he'd felt, and the anxiety thinking that he'd be thrown away for being so broken. Braev and Edea calmed those fears, gave him potions to help with the outer wounds, and promised to help him with the internal, until he stopped hurting. They tried, but he'd just gotten better at hiding them as the years went by.

"Ah… Ringabel…" She chews on her bottom lip. "Don't do this to yourself. You're better than this." At least he isn't cut up, she thinks, though her eyes wander to his bare, scarred shoulders.

This is not a conversation he wants to be having, and yet he turns to face her, finally setting his top back down on the counter. He feels horribly naked in front of her like this, though she's seen him (and Tiz) without their shirts on before. He opens his mouth to argue with her, that no, he isn't better than anything. That he deserves this pain and these wounds. They remind him of his failures and ensures he never forgets them. He wants to tell her that the pain is comforting as much as it is distressing, and he enjoys it, along with the darkness that his former Job brings with it. But he can't. He's too embarrassed, too upset… the words die in his throat, and instead he asks.

"Where did you get this anyway?" It's something he's used before. Potions are a handy thing, yes, but the taste leaves something to be desire and using them too often causes nausea. For minor wounds, a salve to numb the pain and promote healing worked just fine. Besides, knowing that they could magically make most wounds disappear in an instant could have a terrible affect on people's mental health in the long-run, as Ringabel could attest, and many people avoided potions if at all possible.

"I…" She hasn't expected him to ask apparently. "I bought some from Eternia the last we were there."

"Ah…" Yes, he recognizes the brand. A good one, though expensive. He picks up the container and carefully rotates it in his hands. It's too good for him to use, he thinks, but she seems to be expecting him to open it. At least, that's the only reason he can think of why she'd still be in the bathroom with him. It's too small. They're too close. He might normally enjoy such closeness with Edea, but right now it's… it's suffocating.

He swallows.

"Edea, please." He all but begs. "I'll be fine." He tries to shove the container back at her, but she won't take it, crossing her arms. Her hair, wet from her earlier bath, clings to her red face.

"I won't let you do this to yourself!" She argues, stamping her feet.

A pit grows in his stomach. Anger and despair build up in his chest. He'd hidden the dark parts of him for so long that he can't bear to expose them to her radiance. He can't. He can't let her see, he can't face them himself. He…

"Please." He says, and his eyes burn. His shoulders are tight, his chest aches, his head feels like it's going to split open, and his arms tremble. With suppressed rage or tension, he doesn't know.

Edea, beautiful, kind, foolish Edea, stands her ground. "I'm not leaving." And with her in the way, he can hardly shove her aside to reach the door, she knows. Edea is firm on this; she'd failed to save Alternis. She has to save Ringabel.

Something inside of him bends under the pressure and snaps and his vision sways at the same time the fog in his head clears. Ringabel sags against her, leaning his head against her shoulder. "Please…" he gasps. "I can't. You don't need to see this."

"I already have," she reminds him, and her hands wrap gently around his wrists. "You're my friend…. and if the others knew, they wouldn't let you do this either."

He sniffles, feeling like a child who's been caught doing something naughty. In a way, perhaps he is; his... habits had started as a way for a child to understand why his mother had abandoned him, why the city treated him so badly. They'd continued as an adult, fueling his rage and his power that he needed to be a good Dark Knight. Murmuring quietly, he leans against her, feeling exhausted and so exposed. His skin and soul feel raw, but his head is clearer than it has felt in months.

"Edea…" How to explain. "I'll be fine. Even if I… do this, I'll be fine."

"But it's not fine. It's not okay." Her fingers trace scars across his inner wrists. He'd dabbled in that for some time before moving to places less visible, he remembers. After the incident with his bare arms, Braev had been careful to watch him, and had set Master Kamiizumi and Sir Heinkel to keep an eye on him too. He'd been so angry and embarrassed at the time, though that had eventually faded to gratefulness that the men cared about him so much.

"It will be," He promises. Sighing softly, feeling the same mixture of embarrassment and gratefulness now, he finally pulls away from her. "I'm still not using it."

"Ringabel!" She frowns. He smiles and it feels more natural than it has in days.

"It's yours, Edea. You didn't buy it for me." Though what she did buy it for, he doesn't know. He pauses a moment before trying to hand it back to her. "Here."

Edea's flusters, and her hands tuck behind her back. "No, I mean it when I say you can use it!"

"I'm a big boy, I can heal myself." Either naturally with time, or with a Cura or potion… there's really no reason for him to use this, expensive as it is. He'll take the healing naturally route, enjoy the pain while he has it, and try to be a little more careful in the future.

But Edea is stubborn and mule-headed sometimes. As much as he loves her, it's times like this that test his patience. "Just... try a little of it."

"Why?" She's being awfully pushy.

"I'll just feel better if you do." She replies, and just like that, he folds. Alas, his weakness; Edea's happiness.

"You just want to see me naked," he teases, as he turns away from her and back toward the mirror. In the warped reflection he can see her frown sharply, and his smile toward her is sincere as he tries to find the ugliest of the bruises on his skin.

"Don't even start - you know that's not true." She argues. Yes, he knows. While their relationship is much improved over their first meeting, because both of them have mellowed out and somehow met near the middle, she still hates it when it says things like that. It's something he's trying to work on, tiny little voices in his head admonishing him for his behavior.

"Yes, my dear. I know. And if I don't behave, you'll add another bruise to the list. " He says absently as he finds a nasty looking thing on his side that's been making it harder for him to move the past few days. He'll get rid of that one, he decides, and unscrews the top of the metal container.

It's been used before, he notices, which shouldn't surprise him. Using potions and Cure's for every scrape and bruise is stupid, and Edea's a physical fighter; she throws herself into the thick of things more often than not. But something, instinct perhaps, gives him pause and he turns to her.

"If you're using this, I don't want to use too much."

Her brow furrows, she shakes her head. "No, it's fine. I have more." But she's suddenly unable to look at him, her eyes flicking away to the side.

"Edea."

Ringabel has known Edea for years. This Edea and the woman who died in his arms. He knows her tells, when she's feeling guilty, hiding a secret, and… when she knows the other person knows she's hiding something. The pit that had been in his stomach forms again, this time a sharp pain. Setting the open container back down, he instead uses his greater height and an intimidation tactic he normally _loathes_, tugging Edea against the wall and trapping her against it, his arms on either side of her head.

"What are you hiding from me?" He asks, his voice low.

Edea's eyes are wide, almost shocked for a moment, before they narrow and she shoves at his chest. Her fist hits a bruise and he hisses with pain but doesn't budge. They're in a fight of endurance now, and Alternis has so much more experience.

"It's nothing," she grits out. Even if she's physically stronger than him, Ringabel - Alternis - can be stubborn and unmoving like a mountain when he wants to be. She contemplates bodily shoving him, or trying to slip under his arms and out the door when he _growls_.

"Edea. You are acting oddly." The voice sends chills up her spine. It's as if a ghost has come back from the past, but instead of frightening her, she just gets more angry. Ghosts shouldn't exist, in her opinion! "Tell me the truth!" The man demands and she monetarily forgets who she's dealing with.

"Alternis!" She shouts, and knows, _knows_ that isn't correct. When he doesn't react, she pulls her fist back to punch him in his stupid face. It's so serious and grim, as though he's forgotten how to smile. Maybe he has, she thinks, because he's so caught up being depressed and hating himself, that he's forgotten what it was like to _forget_.

Ringabel catches her fist before it connects and slams her arm up against the wood of the bathroom, over her head. A part of him feels deeply uncomfortable treating her like this, but Edea is a warrior whom he's fought beside for months and both Alternis and Ringabel have a respect for her strength, as much as they both tended to ignore it.

They're both panting hard, angry and upset and both hurting, and Edea's eyes are suddenly bright. Hating himself more than usual, Ringabel tries to force himself to calm down, breathing in deeply and reminding himself that he's no longer the man he used to be. Quite literally; just like Edea Lee, Alternis Dim died that day on Grandship. Calming himself just enough, his eyes flicker up to where his hand is tight around her wrist and… a part of _Ringabel_ dies.

The long sleeve of her nightgown has slipped down, and he can see, quite clearly, a row of neat parallel cuts, thin and shallow, and all too familiar. Bruises litter the pale skin just underneath the hem, and though he hears Edea's protest in his ears, he grabs her arms and pulls it closer, yanking her sleeve up to bare her skin. The usually pale flesh is marred with marks. Those are not unusual, given their occupation and Edea's boisterousness, but they're far too uniform to be natural.

A whimper forces itself out of his throat. He's failed again. Edea is _hurting_, but he's never noticed, and he gives her a glance. Her eyes are wide, her face pale. When their eyes meet, there's a pain and fear there he hasn't seen in… ever. Guilt floods him, for various reasons, not least because he's forced her into revealing this. She knew about his pain because he'd shown it, but Edea was too strong to show her own.

"What… why are you doing this?" He asks her, his chest tight. He lets go of her wrist and she tugs the sleeve of her nightgown up over her wrist again, cradling it gently in her hand. He doesn't know what else to say.

"I could ask you the same," she points out, and he feels a pang in his chest because she's right; he's hardly the one to be lecturing her about her self-destructive behaviour. Still. Edea is important to him, and as a man formerly known as Alternis Dim, he feels that Braev would want him to look out for her. To keep her safe, even from herself. He swallows and forces himself to stay composed. It's difficult. He'd like nothing more than to cry right now, to weep openly at how his angel is broken and twisted, but that doesn't help her. It doesn't really help either of them.

"You don't need to… do this." He says weakly. It's a bad argument, considering that he's still half naked and still covered in his own self-inflicted bruises.

And Edea hates being told what to do. She bristles. "Don't need to do what? Don't need to watch as we're forced to kill former comrades again and again, knowing that we can't do anything but watch them fall? I don't need to mourn their deaths, wishing that I'd been able to convince them _this_ time? Don't need to watch my family suffer?" Her bottom lip trembles, and her eyes close.

"Edea…"

"It's not that bad," she grumbles. "It's just every now and then."

"You shouldn't do it at all." Even to his own ears he knows how hypocritical he sounds, and merely flinches without sound when she pokes at a larger bruise on his stomach with two fingers.

"I'll take a potion." She promises, her voice quiet. She's gone back to being contemplative; he doesn't know how to feel about that. How long has she been doing this, he wonders, how long has she been punishing herself? She shouldn't be, she has no reason to be. She's done nothing wrong, in his opinion, and he'd rather that she punish him a thousand times over before turning a blade or fist on herself. Carefully, he takes her wrist back into his hand and though she resists for a moment, she allows him to pull her sleeve up so that he can examine her arm again.

"And you shouldn't abuse restorative items," he tells her with a gentle, controlled smile, and reaches back to dip his fingers into some of the salve that's still waiting behind him. It numbs his fingers somewhat, but he still spreads it gently into the discolorations in her otherwise porcelain skin. She lets out a soft noise, either at the tender sensation of having her wounds touched, or the numbing effect the salve has as her bruises slowly fade, he doesn't know, but they both stand and watch the blue and black fade to yellow and green. Another application in the morning, and they should be gone entirely. Her cuts are another story, but they're shallow and should heal soon with the salve's helping hand.

"I… get angry," she admits, and though his eyes flicker up to her face, she's staring down at her arm, transfixed. "I don't want to show it around Agnes; she'll just scared. Or upset. So I just… in the bath, or when she's asleep, I just…"

"Don't, please," he breathes. "I know, I know how it feels to be angry." Does he ever. A regular ball of rage and sharp edges, Alternis had always been, an explosion simmering beneath the surface. He has softened quite a bit since becoming _Ringabel_, a change he is quite glad for, but he would willingly take all of her hurt and anger onto himself if that would save her. "But hurting yourself just… makes you angrier."

"I don't need the lecture you from you." Edea says stubbornly, and finally her eyes meet his. Anger and grief he can deal with, but she just looks _tired_ and he swallows. She's resigned, and that's even worse.

"*_I*_ was using the Dark Knight Asterisk." It's a weak argument, but one he's used often over the years to justify the state of his body. He finishes rubbing the salve into her skin and wipes his fingers off on himself, pressing his fingers into one of the purple bruises on his arm, swallowing back a moan of pain.

Edea rolls her eyes. "I'm not stupid, Ringabel. I know exactly what Alternis and you were doing."

There's no good way to answer that, is there? Ringabel keeps quiet even when Edea shoves him back until his hip bumps into the wooden counter, leaning his arms against it as she dips her fingers into the small metal container. "Stay still or I'm gonna tickle you." She threatens, and Ringabel knows that she'll gladly make good on that threat. He bites his lip to keep himself from saying anything more as she returns the favor, her fingers gently and carefully rubbing over the ugliest looking of his bruises.

It's painful, certainly, but a good type of tender pain that shoots something akin to pleasure straight into his stomach and chest. It makes him feel alive, reminds him that there's feelings beyond his rage. It _hurts_ so good, but her fingers are gentle and he can't quite stop himself from groaning when she presses a little too deeply into that blasted bruise that takes up half of his torso. The hurt coils down into the core of his belly.

Edea pauses before continuing, the touch more gentle. Hopefully she thinks it's pain and not pleasure behind that noise, he thinks, shifting uncomfortably. He's reminded that he's still half-naked, and Edea' is out of her usual armor and in her nightgown, and that they're very close. Her skin is warm, and her hand is comforting, and he is an awful person who doesn't deserve the care and attention that she's currently give him. His hands clench angrily into fists.

"Whatever you're thinking," Edea says, her voice tight. "You'd better stop. I'll fight you if you think this is okay, Ringabel."

"I know its not." He tries not to snap at her, but this is exhausting. He's exhausted and too exposed, his nerves rubbed raw. "This isn't okay for either of us." But it's hard to stop, once he's started and gotten used to it. There's a type of comfort in the pain, a grounding force that keeps him centered. He'd forgotten about it, along with the rest of his memories, but when everything had come flooding back, it had been one of the first things he'd returned to.

She finishes, or perhaps her fingers have just gone numb, and she sets the container aside. When she looks back at him, her eyes are bright. Please don't cry, he thinks, because a part of him has already died knowing that Edea Lee is so hurt that she's hurt _herself_, and he thinks another part will die if she cries over his foolishness.

Edea is stronger than he is, and she simply sniffles, rubbing her face with her clean hand. On impulse, he leans up to wrap an arm around her shoulders, pull her close against him. Though the salve that covers most of his torso is going to stain her clothing. she doesn't seem to mind, leaning gratefully into his warmth with a soft noise.

For a few moments he just holds her, enjoying the feeling of her body, the smell of her skin and hair (though it's somewhat covered up by the sharp smell of the balm they've been using) and it calms him somewhat. For a split second he thinks that perhaps he doesn't need _pain_ to remember who he is. Perhaps he simply needs Edea Lee, his angel and his love, to center him. But as quickly as that thought enters his head, he destroys it. Edea isn't his, and he doesn't deserve her to be, as much as he fantasizes about it on daily basis. They're comrades, friends, and nothing more, he reminds himself.

Though it's harder to remember that as his body finally reacts to the mixture of pleasurepain and the warmth of Edea in his arms.

"Ringabel…" She sounds grumpy, a little embarrassed.

"Sorry," he whispers. "You should go to bed." He had intended on taking a bath, but probably shouldn't with the salve needing to soak into his skin and work its magic. His hair needs washing though, and that isn't something he'll compromise on. "I'll follow soon."

"No." He detects a hint of fright in her voice, and sighs. She'd done the same that day when she'd first seen his arms, afraid to let him out of her sight for fear he'd do something stupid. It'd been awkward for a while, once she'd learned his secret, and he sincerely hopes it won't be as awkward this time. Edea is nothing if not stubborn about her friends, which is part of her charm, her supposes. "I'm staying here until you go to bed."

"I really need to wash my hair, you know." He winks at her, feeling a little more alive. "Have to keep it nice and shiny for the ladies."

She giggles, and some of the tension between them fades. "Yeah, if it hasn't worked by now, it's sure going to in the future."

He's just as reluctant to let go of her, though, and when they pull apart, his hands remain at her hips. He is most definitely physically attracted to her, and though this is possibly the worst (second worst) time to be noting her beauty, he cant help but admire her. He's so distracted by her looks that he almost doesn't notice when she leans up and presses her lips to his.

Almost.

He freezes at the contact, and his face turns an embarrassing shade of red. "Edea?" He manages to choke out, eyes wide. He has no idea why she's just kissed him, or _why_ she thought that was a good idea, given their mutual mental states.

It seems she knows exactly that it isn't a good idea, but she speaks up hesitantly, breathless. "Do you want to…?" He stares at her blankly, confused. She can't bring herself to finish, but the way her cheeks bloom with color and her eyes flicker down between them says enough.

Oh.

_No_, he thinks, and frantically. He's thought about her for so long, but not like this. Never like this. Not when their minds are so vulnerable, and their bodies so messed up. Physically harming themselves until they bleed isn't the only way to hurt themselves, and throwing themselves into _that_ is just as destructive as the bruises mottling their skin. Pain disguised as comfort, wrecking them from within. Either way, he can't allow it.

"I…." He doesn't know if he's strong enough to turn her down. He's hurting just as much inside after all. But then, he reminds himself that he hurts to so that he _can_ be strong. His pain is for the Lee family, and to protect her… even from herself, and from him. It's one of the hardest things he's done in a long time, but he slowly shakes his head. "No." He says quietly. "Thank you, but no."

When he leans over to kiss her forehead, he's shaking. Some protector he is, he thinks unhappily, but this is not the time nor place for him to fancy her, even if his body is a dirty betrayer. He doesn't want to hurt her, or their friendship, or the love he feels for her.

Edea sighs, but her shoulders relax and he feels some discomfort leave her. He's made the right choice, then. "Then I'll head to bed. If you don't hurry up and wash your hair and be in the room within the hour, I'll sic Agnes on you."

"Oh no, anything but that." He laughs, but the threat is a good one. Who knows what Agnes would do if she found out about her friends suffering like this? As Edea packs up the container of salve, he notes that her bare arm is still visible, and though the bruises look more like shadows, he carefully tugs her sleeve down to cover her skin anyway.

She smiles at him, and his heart threatens to jump out of his chest. "Thank you," she says, and her eyes are bright, but clear, and lack the pain from earlier. He could happily lose himself in them.

"I should thank _you_," he replies quietly. For… more than he can ever articulate in words. If only his journal weren't currently being used as a travel journal…

She frowns at him. "Just promise me one thing, Ringabel."

"Anything." For her, anything.

"I'm… not going to ask you to stop," Because that had worked out so well the last time she and her father had attempted that. "But just promise me, that you'll let me know if you need me to lick your wounds." To _help_ him with his hurt, even if she couldn't prevent it.

"We're not like lions, Edea, your lovely mane aside." But the sentiment is touching. "However I would gladly lick your wounds anytime."

"That's a little weird."

Smiling, he shoos her out the door and she leaves, giggling as he tickles her side gently with his fingers. Once the door is closed behind her, he locks it firmly and turns back to the old, misshapen mirror.

At least she hadn't seen his _legs_.

Running his fingers through his hair again and wishing he had asked her to leave the balm behind, Ringabel turns away from his warped reflection to deal instead with the distortion inside, however he can.


End file.
